


The Year of the Rat

by Layla_Sanura



Series: Ronnie Sims: Private Investigator [1]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Layla_Sanura/pseuds/Layla_Sanura
Summary: Ronnie and Louie meet to discuss the status of their relationship, and Ronnie's world changes irreversibly.
Relationships: Ronnie Sims/Louie Fane
Series: Ronnie Sims: Private Investigator [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734856
Kudos: 5





	The Year of the Rat

**Author's Note:**

> The AB:VH canon doesn't give Lillian a surname, so I used 'Granger.'

**Preface**

Veronica Sims pushed fingers through her honey-blond hair. For years she’d kept it boyishly short, youthful—her heart-shaped face and high cheekbones delicate enough that the cut was striking but not severe—but over the last few months she’d let it grow. She now sported a softer, more feminine inverted bob: a shorter length in back with the front angled into tips that ended an inch below her chin, and side-swept bangs.

That her hair looked great was not a question. _Why_ she cared, however, was the particular matter niggling her. Her ex-boyfriend, Louie Fane, was en route to her apartment and she expected him to arrive within five minutes.

Their last huge, world-ending fight had occurred a week before Christmas, when Louie had pressed her for an answer to his proposal, that he might introduce her to his family as his fiancé or not at all. She couldn’t answer him. In her inaction, she had planted her foot firmly atop the last brittle straw of his patience. The dam broke open. They’d spent all day and all night confessing insecurities, shouting and crying alternately. When the tumult finally ceased, rendering them sleep deprived, starving, and emotionally raw, they had decided on only one thing: they could not continue as they had been, and a break was in order. Call it love, lingering co-dependence, or simply cowardice—they could not bring themselves to call it off completely.

They’d had nearly four months of non-communication, but on a nostalgic whim, Ronnie had sent him a ‘Happy Birthday’ text a week ago. That got them talking again. They’d agreed to meet to discuss how things stood, and Ronnie’s heart and stomach both had been in knots ever since.

She wore an olive-green blouse that flattered her tall, lean figure (now even leaner after months of negotiating her emotions at the gym and trails behind her cabin) and turned her gray eyes hazel, paired with black slacks and simple black flats. After dating Louie, who was three inches shorter, heels had become a thing of the past. She fiddled with her small silver hoop earrings and paced her kitchen, intermittently sipping from a glass of red wine. When the knock sounded at her front door, she almost soiled her outfit.

**Chapter 1: Reunion**

The tension clenching her spine dissipated slightly when Louie’s eyebrows shot up in a pleased expression at the sight of her. He hadn’t seen her re-imagined style; she hadn’t done too much to spice up her look while they were together. She stepped aside and invited him in, and closed the door after him.

“You looked amazing, Vi—Ronnie.” Louie stumbled over her nickname, Vi-vi, but recovered quickly. “I like your hair.” He reached up and slid a hand though it.

She fought not to blush, and lost. “Thanks. You look well. Would you like a glass of wine? I just opened a bottle.”

He laughed nervously. “Yes, wine would be good, thank you.”

Seconds later they were seated together on her living room sofa, each clutching a full glass of claret, staring into their laps.

“How’s work?” she ventured.

“Mostly the same. I do have a very promising doctoral candidate I’m mentoring, though, which is invigorating.”

Ronnie smiled. “I bet; that’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.”

“And you?”

“I’ve gotten a lot of cheating spouse calls recently, which is a slower pace job for a nice chunk of change. I’m not as stimulated as I’d like, but at least I’m making good money.”

“Good for you.” He patted her knee before he could think better of it, and retracted his hand in an awkward motion. “Sorry,” he muttered, and averted his eyes.

She laced her fingers with his. “Louie.” She waited until he met her gaze. “It’s fine. We have history; it’s not like this is our first date.”

He closed his eyes and let out a breath—a behavior she knew meant he was about to voice something that had weighed on his mind. “I miss you.” He paused, letting the words fall like lead pellets through the air. “I can’t deny it, so I won’t even try. I miss waking up to you. I miss sharing meals with you—” he grinned— “I miss hearing scandalous stories from your job. I miss making love to you; I miss your touch. I still love you, Ronnie. But if you can’t be with me, whole-heartedly, then I can’t let myself keep hurting. If this won’t work, I need to move on, for my dignity and my sanity.”

She stared at him wide-eyed, absorbing his words. “I miss you, too,” she whispered, and set her wine glass on the coffee table so she could hold his hands.

She opened her mouth to say—she wasn’t sure what, exactly, but somehow found herself kissing him instead. Louie placed his glass on the table as a companion to hers and pulled her into his lap. She shuddered as their mouths locked into a blistering momentum, as if carved to mesh seamlessly. Louie was an expert kisser: he had soft lips and a dexterous tongue, and as a result was also expert at other intimacies that required those same organs. Anticipating his mouth pressed to lower spots on her body, his saliva mingling with the salt of her sweat, drenched her more thoroughly than she’d been in a long time.

Of their issues, chemistry was never one.

**Chapter 2: The Ecstasy and the Agony**

Ronnie ground her hips against Louie’s, and he moaned gruffly at her ear with that aching animal timbre that drove her wild. He was the most passionate man she’d ever known: he radiated it, in his career, his friendships, and especially in physical intimacy. When they made love, even if it was quick and dirty, she felt as if she was his first and last, as if he hadn’t fully experienced a woman until her. She knew he had ex-girlfriends, but the emotion evident even in his inarticulate moans made her feel like the only woman in the world.

Her breath grew ragged as she rubbed herself against his extremely present erection. “Jesus. Did you steal a specimen from the geology department?”

His laughter came out in a bubbling tide. “I’ve done without for four months. Forgive me if I’m over-excited.”

She hovered her face above his. “I like it.” And nipped his bottom lip sharply, just this side of drawing blood.

Louie slid his hands under her ass, turned her before she could register it, and pressed his groin into her backside. They were both kneeling on the couch, fused back-to-front in a hard line. One of his hands cupped her breast through her shirt while the other teased the sensitive skin of her midriff.

“I _know_ how you like it.” His breath was hot and balmy against her ear.

Ronnie reached behind her and grabbed a fistful of his thick hair. She turned her head over her shoulder and met his lips in a frenzy of tongue and teeth.

“Louie,” she pleaded, her vision blurred by desire. “Fuck me.”

Her torso jerked, followed immediately by a ripping sound, and in her peripheral vision she saw dark cloth flutter to the living room carpet. Her pulsing arousal clouded her mind and kept her from realizing what had happened. Only Louie’s hands on her bare thighs as he spread them told her she was now missing her trousers. He tore through her panties in the same manner: an effortless tug, and he tossed the fabric aside. She heard him unzip his fly and then, fleetingly, his quivering head brushed across her left cheek.

Louie grabbed her neck, applying just enough force to make her gasp. “Bend over,” he growled.

She leaned forward so she was on all fours, her hands gripping the arm of the sofa. He reached between her legs and massaged her clit with two fingers; she bucked inadvertently, and her breathing quickened with each motion. His touch was electric, as it should be, after years together. He knew how to read her body, how to make her gasp or scream, depending on his mood.

The muscles in her thighs began to tighten, and she knew an orgasm wasn’t far off. “I’m gonna come right here if you—” her words melted into a trembling moan as he pushed himself inside.

She was tight from the months of abstinence, but so slick that he hit home with the first thrust. She threw her head back and rocked her pelvis hard against his, deepening the penetration.

“God, you’re wet,” he murmured. “You really haven’t fucked anyone since Christmas, have you?”

Ronnie shoved herself against his hips with as much momentum as she could muster and succeeded in knocking him off balance so that he fell down to a sitting position on the sofa. She straightened into reverse-cowgirl, then clutched her knees to her chest and spun around to face him. His back arched wildly at the spinning sensation and when she leaned over him, she noticed his eyes were out of focus.

“I almost took someone home once, but couldn’t go through with it. I bought a new vibrator instead.”

He grinned. “I haven’t been with anyone, either.”

She bounced deftly along his shaft and he squirmed beneath her, thrusting his hips and guiding her backside. “I can tell,” she managed between panting breaths.

They continued their rough pace, and she knew she would be more than a little sore in the morning, but that couldn’t be helped. She wanted all of him; she wanted as much of his body pressed against and inside of her as could possibly fit.

Louie’s eyes rolled into his head. “Fuck, Ronnie.”

The quality of his voice told her he was close, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. She slowed her hips, spun into reverse-cowgirl again and then leaned forward. He was kneeling behind her in an instant, gripping her thighs with enormous pressure as he drove into her with better leverage.

She wailed and thrust with him. Yep, there would definitely be bruising.

“Ronnie.” There was some tension in his voice. “I’m afraid I’ll—”

“I want you, Louie. Please, harder!”

His reserve disappeared, and he slammed into her so powerfully she almost toppled off the sofa. This was what she craved, this was what she needed: the two of them churning and thrashing, heeding only momentary impulses, moving together in that practiced way only familiar lovers can. How could she have gone for so long without it? Louie held her tighter, and on the swell of mounting friction rode her orgasm, closer, swallowing, until it surged forth in a wave of white static. Drowning never felt so good.

Her arms went numb with it and she collapsed. Her head and shoulders hit the sofa cushion, though her hips and ass were still raised, and Louie continued to pump into her. She felt his whole body shudder and he screamed incoherently.

Suddenly, she was drowning again, this time snatched into an oblivion of pain. It was the kind that defies articulation: the kind of inaudible pain that renders one breathless, the kind that hollows its victim in its wake. The kind that overwhelms the consciousness.

**Chapter 3: Fallout**

Someone jostled her arm. She heard distant, muddled voices, and then she was jostled again, more forcefully.

“ _Ma petite_. You must get up.”

She groaned and rolled over in bed. “Fourteen-fucking-hours, Jean-Claude. I must do nothing.”

The mattress moved, and she popped open one eye to see her master vampire lover staring at her from inches away with a grave expression.

“Anita,” he said in a low but stern voice.

He didn’t need volume to get his point across. Something was wrong. She sat up so fast she was momentarily dizzy. “What is it?”

“Your phone has been constantly ringing. After the third call I checked and saw it was Dr. Lillian, so I answered.” He paused, which he only did for one of two reasons: dramatic effect, or prepping her for bad news. Fuck. “There has been an accident.”

“Who?” she whispered, fearing what he might detect in her voice.

“Ronnie.”

***

“I don’t think _you_ understand.” Anita pulled out her badge and shoved it into the nurse’s face. “My name is Marshal Blake and I need to see Dr. Granger about a lycanthrope attack. _Now_.”

The young woman’s eyes widened and she looked ready to shit her pants. “Of course, Marshal. I apologize.” She lifted a phone receiver behind the counter and her voice projected over the hospital’s PA system: “Dr. Lillian Granger, please report to the lobby as soon as possible. Dr. Granger, to the lobby.”

Anita folded her badge away. “Thank you,” she said, with effort, in a softer tone.

She had barely time to finish a cup of horrible hospital coffee before Dr. Lillian blew briskly into the large waiting room, her head swiveling.

Anita was at her side in a second and touched her shoulder. “Lillian.”

The older woman took her hand and led her down a hallway to a bank of elevators and jammed her thumb onto the UP button. Shortly, the machine _dinged_ and they stepped inside where, thankfully, they were alone.

“It’s bad, Anita,” Lillian said without prompting.

She closed her eyes. “How bad?”

“Contracting lycanthropy is her best chance for survival.”

Anita pulled fingers through her disheveled curls. “How did this happen? Louie has excellent control of his beast. You know that.”

“I do know.” She sighed. “They were being intimate.”

“What’s the damage?”

The surgeon looked at her skeptically for several seconds. “She’s your best friend, Anita.”

She nodded, but too rapidly to be convincing. “ _Was_ my best friend. We’ve become estranged. Thanks for your concern, but I’m here in both an official capacity and representing the Master of the City. I need to know.”

“Toward the end of their lovemaking, Louie’s beast got loose. He partially shifted and clawed through Ronnie’s back. He punctured her aorta and severed her spine at the L2 vertebrae. She’s already undergone heart surgery, but there’s nothing we can do for the spinal injury other than clean the wound and sow her up. If she lives, and somehow doesn’t become infected, she’ll never walk again.”

Anita had never struggled so hard to maintain blankface as she did in that moment. Ronnie might die. And if she didn’t, the best-case scenario was becoming a wereanimal. Goddamn fucking shit.

**Chapter 4: Nuts, Bolts, and Stitches**

The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened, revealing the Intensive Care Unit and prohibiting further conversation for the moment. Lillian continued her quick pace with Anita in tow to room 56B. They entered and Lillian closed the door behind them.

The space wasn’t large, but was still and peaceful, and Ronnie had it to herself. She lay partially on her abdomen, but was propped up with a mound of pillows so that her side supported some of her weight as well. Ronnie’s hospital gown was tied together loosely up the back, and through the gaps of cloth Anita saw six wide stripes of gauze with black stitching poking out here and there, like haphazard zippers holding her together. Her stomach dropped and an echo sounded in her head that she might get sick if she continued analyzing the wounds and imagining how they looked when fresh.

She shook her head and walked around to the other side of the bed, where she saw why Ronnie’s body was arranged at an odd angel: she was attached to a ventilator, and so couldn’t lie fully on her abdomen. She turned to Lillian on her right, the question evident in her eyes.

“We’ve put her into a chemically-induced coma until she makes it out of the twenty-four-hour window. There’s no point in bringing her back to consciousness until we know for certain she’ll survive. That would be cruel.”

“Jesus.”

She felt simultaneously warm and chilled, her skin had acquired a lovely set of goose bumps, and worst of all, she felt that pressure behind her eyes and the initial hot prick of tears. No. Not gonna happen. She was here to investigate. She would not lose her breakfast, nor would she cry.

“Anita,” Lillian said gently, and touched her shoulder. “Would you like to sit down?”

She let Lillian lead her to a chair where she sat heavily, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the wall behind her. “I can talk to Dolph, see if I can get Louie released. He won’t like it, but I haven’t called in a favor for a while.” Yes, a good distraction—the legal aspects of the situation.

Lillian sighed. “I wanted to talk to you about that; it’s quite delicate. After the incident, Louie didn’t call the police. He called me, and I sent a team of paramedics to the location.”

Anita opened her eyes. “There weren’t cops on the scene? No one filed a police report?”

Lillian shook her head.

“What about Ronnie’s neighbors? She must’ve screamed; they must’ve heard something.”

“I don’t think there was much to hear. Given the size and depth of the wounds, she lost a lot of blood very rapidly—especially with a nicked aorta. Added to that is the fact that with some traumatic injuries, the pain itself is so intense it shocks the victim into unconsciousness, which I suspect also came into play. Chances are Ronnie blacked out almost immediately after. My paramedics reported her unconscious when they arrived, and then gave her drugs to make sure she remained that way.”

Anita stood from her chair, channeling the anger that came so naturally. “Lillian, this isn’t something you can just sweep under the rug. Louie attacked another person. You said yourself Ronnie may not—” the lump in her throat forbid finishing that sentence, so she skipped over it. “I like him as much as the next person, but we need to follow protocol.”

“Anita, please—if not for Louie, for me. He’s a close personal friend. His life will never be the same if you report this. He’ll lose his job if the University finds out he’s a were. Not to mention, with an arrest record, he won’t be able to find another job in his field. You know how he loves his work.”

“And what about Ronnie? She doesn’t count for anything?”

“Of course she does. If she dies, we’ll be in a very different situation. But for now, while we’re in Limbo, I’m asking you to please keep quiet, for Louie’s _and_ Ronnie’s sakes.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How confident are you she’ll make it?”

“Fairly. Had this been another type of accident, I would be more reluctant to answer that question. But it’s highly probable she’ll contract lycanthropy, and once she does, the real healing can begin.”

Anita crossed her arms and released a long breath. “Fine. I won’t report it—for now. But I want status updates on her progress. And I do need to talk to Louie, if only as an ambassador for Jean-Claude.”

Lillian squeezed her hand. “Thank you. You’ll be on my shortlist of people to notify. Unfortunately, I don’t know where Louie is. Once he made sure Ronnie was in the paramedics’ care, he left. I sent him a few texts after her surgery, but haven’t spoken with him recently.”

It didn’t matter. Anita had a good idea of where to find him. A wereanimal in the throes of guilt? Where else would he be. She nodded. “Thank you for handling this, Lillian. I’ll keep you in the loop and you do the same.”

The good doctor smiled and walked her out of the room.

**Chapter 5: Broken**

Anita pulled out of the hospital parking lot and drove a route she hadn’t taken in years. Surprisingly (or perhaps not), she remembered every turn, every curve of the road, and parked in the driveway of the familiar suburban home. The one that could’ve been hers, had she chosen differently.

She didn’t bother to knock; it might startle them. She opened the unlocked front door, passed through the foyer and into the living room where she found Richard and Louie sitting across from one another. The only source of light was the expansive bay window in the far wall, through which shadows of leafy tree limbs crept across the carpet, furniture, and occupants. One such gray shape fell across Louie’s face where he sat, unmoving, on the sofa.

“Anita.” Richard stood, but didn’t close the distance between them—obviously torn between her presence and Louie’s well-being. “I didn’t know you’d be coming.”

“I was shielding like a bitch.” She sat beside Louie and placed a friendly hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry.”

He turned to her, and the light shifted on his countenance to reveal an empty solemn expression. His face had a scrubbed appearance, clearly the result of crying: the lines of his forehead and around his mouth were distressingly prominent and made him look older than his thirty-two years, and the skin under his eyes was blue and baggy. A lot of emotional shit had to go down for a wereanimal to look this ragged.

“How is she?”

Anita glanced up at Richard, who nodded, and then back to the man at her side. “Alive. Lillian put her into a chemical coma until she’s out of the danger zone. She’s on a ventilator for the time being.”

Louie whimpered and put a hand over his eyes, slouching ever lower as he heard the news. Anita brought him against her shoulder and hugged him sideways; he clung to her as if she were the last sturdy rock jutting from the crag of an abyss. In some sense, she probably was. She looked to Richard again, eyes wide and pleading for help.

“How about some more tea, Lou?” he asked softly.

The wererat nodded without lifting his head. Richard left them momentarily, and Anita heard him in the kitchen through the wall behind her, clanking about with mugs and spoons. When he reentered, Louie had gotten a hold of himself enough to let go of her. He reached for a mug of steaming liquid just as Richard set the tray on the coffee table, and took a hearty swig.

Anita held his hand in her lap and repeatedly rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked after a beat.

Louie exhaled a great breath and wiped his nose with a tissue. “Ronnie and I have been on a break for four months. I went over to her place to talk about our relationship—that is, if we still had one. I thought I’d gotten over her, but as soon as I walked through her door, I knew I was wrong. All the love was still there, just under the surface. We both admitted to missing each other, and then she kissed me. Then we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. We’ve had passionate sex before, of course, but this was . . . this was everything: love, nostalgia, reconciliation, apology. I’d always been slightly reserved with her, for obvious reasons. But this time I couldn’t—” his voice broke— “I couldn’t keep it together.” Trembling edged back up his throat. “And now . . . and now . . .”

His body shook as he tried to keep from bursting into tears once more. Anita pulled him against her and stroked his hair. “Shh, shh. Lillian says there’s a very good chance she’ll contract lycanthropy, which will accelerate her healing. She’ll be good as new in no time.”

He loosed a slew of inarticulate noises, huddled against Anita’s shoulder: “I can’t . . . don’t want . . . she won’t . . .”

Richard joined them on the sofa and sat gingerly beside his friend. “I think you’d benefit from some sleep. You’ve been here since five this morning, and staying awake to agonize over it isn’t helping.”

Anita thought he’d argue, but he only nodded wearily and stood with Richard’s guidance. The taller man helped him shuffle out of the living room. Before they disappeared around a corner, he glanced over his shoulder at her with his We-Need-to-Talk expression. She groaned inwardly.

**Chapter 6: Butterfly Effect**

Richard joined her once more in the living room looking nearly as ghostly as the man he’d just put to bed. He sat in a hard-backed chair with his elbows on his knees and plowed hands through his now chin-length hair.

“You’ve talked with Lillian?”

“I have.”

“And you won’t report him?”

Anita paused. “No. But I can’t speak for Ronnie. She may wake up and want to press charges.”

“With all they’ve been through, I hope that’s not the case, but you’re right. She’ll never be quite the same. It can be a hard thing to come to terms with.” He raised his eyes to her as he said the last.

Nope, too easy. He’d want her to make some snarky comment just for the thrill of getting angry, to use her to vent some of his obvious frustration, and she wasn’t going to let him have it without due effort. “Why hasn’t he been to see her?”

Richard shrugged. “Guilt. Fear. Remorse. Take your pick. Where do you and Ronnie stand? I didn’t think you two were friends anymore.”

He was really trying. She fought to keep the sneer out of her voice. “We haven’t talked in a while. I didn’t even know they were on a break, or that they were trying to work things out.”

“I guess you don’t have time for people you’re not fucking.”

 _And_ there it was. “That’s not entirely true, Richard: I’m here talking with you, aren’t I?” She let a sliver of her bleak expression bleed into her eyes, rendering them completely black.

He sat back in his chair and splayed his legs, letting one hand rest casually near his crotch—but she knew there was nothing casual about it. “Only because I’m the biggest of your men and you need it every now and then.”

Not possible. She never thought she’d be fighting with Richard before eight AM. But hey, never say never. Only the thought of another few hours’ sleep followed by coffee from her French press kept her from walking over and slapping his face.

She opted for the high road: less time-consuming than the alternative. “Louie’s your best friend. I get it—he’s in a tough spot. We all feel for him, and who knows what the outcome will be with Ronnie. I also get that Ronnie’s ordeal in the time to come will remind you of your trials with lycanthropy. It sucks. But I’m not going to be your punching bag, Richard. Talk it out with Louie, see your therapist, do whatever you have to do. Just don’t aim it at me.”

She didn’t wait to hear what he’d say. She started toward the hallway, but Richard derailed her trajectory with a hand on her shoulder.

“Please don’t go. I’m sorry; you’re right.”

She raised her eyebrows at him as she turned around. “I’m impressed. A ‘please’ _and_ an apology.”

But the look on his face wiped the grin from hers. His eyes shone with unshed tears, which he tried to hide by averting his gaze. Despite his six-one frame, his slumped posture made him seem (could it be?) small. Shit. He’d needed to fight so he wouldn’t cry.

“Louie was the first were I met who wasn’t sadistic or hard-hearted. He isn’t defined by his lycanthropy, it’s just one facet of who he is—and to have this happen . . . he was always conscientious. It’s not fair, Anita.”

Her heart sank seeing him undone by a circumstance no one could control. She wrapped arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. “It’s not.”

He embraced her tightly, almost to the point of pain, but stopped just short.

**Chapter 7: Loose Ends**

She wasn’t sure exactly how long they stood there together—it could’ve been a minute; it could’ve been five. Richard slowly loosened his grip, and then let out a long, quaking sigh, which told her he had taken his moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Anita shook her head. “Not a problem.” She looked up into his chocolate-brown eyes and cupped a hand to his face. She paused briefly to wonder if this was something she would regret later, but took her chances. “When Jean-Claude first told me it was Ronnie, I wanted to lose it. I wanted to fall to the floor and sob instead of going to the hospital. Not because it happened at all, but because it happened now, when she and I aren’t close like we used to be. All I could think about in those first seconds was what a bitch I was for not making time for her, for not trying harder to maintain our friendship. Louie’s lucky to have you, Richard. Right now, you need to be for him what I wish to God I could be for Ronnie.”

Richard pulled her against him once more and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry, Anita. Maybe you can use this as an opportunity to restart your friendship.”

“Maybe.” But she wasn’t so sure. She rubbed her temples to clear her head. “Okay, what’s next? Does Rafael know yet?”

“Not unless Lillian called him. Louie was in no state to even think about it.”

“She may have; she’s on top of things. In any case, we should have an informal meeting at the Circus tonight. Is an hour after full dark good for you?”

“That’s fine.” He glanced at a clock on the wall behind her. “Shit. I need to get to work. I’ll put a call into Rafael at lunchtime, make sure he’s apprised of everything. And please let me know if you hear anything more from Lillian.”

“I will. I told her I needed to be updated immediately if anything changes. You’ll be second to know.”

Richard put a finger to his lips and thought. “I don’t want to bother Louie, but he has a full day of classes. Would you mind going by the University and explaining to the dean about his absence?”

“I can do that.”

***

Anita had to fudge the truth when speaking to the dean. Ronnie wasn’t _actually_ Louie’s fiancé, and of course hadn’t _really_ been in a bad car accident, but she did give him the name of the hospital treating Ronnie if he questioned the circumstance.

By ten AM when she returned to the Circus, she had freed up the rest of the day and most of her week: Jamison jumped at the chance to cover her raisings (due solely to the reward of a substantial paycheck, she was sure), and Larry, after an explanation of the particular nature of her ‘personal emergency,’ had agreed to take on her writ of execution scheduled early Wednesday.

Her affairs in order, she hunkered down in bed with strict instructions not to be disturbed, unless by news from Lillian.

**Chapter 8: Results**

For all the craziness of that morning, at least Anita was well-rested by eight PM. She’d slept until three in the afternoon; spoken with Lillian, who grew more confident by the hour that Ronnie could come off the ventilator the following day; informed Micah of the incident, who had passed word along to key members of the Coalition; confirmed the meeting with Rafael; and briefed Jean-Claude and Asher when they’d risen at six-thirty.

She sat on the white upholstered sofa between Ulfric and Nimir-Raj and watched the Rom pace the gray stone floor. Rafael walked methodically: hands clasped behind his back, head down and studying his shoes.

“I’m surprised this happened to Louie, of all people. As you say, Richard, he has always exercised caution. He has much at stake if he is discovered as a were.”

Richard nodded, but remained quiet—that fact alone told Anita he was still grappling with the situation. Again her heart spasmed for him.

“I’m _not_ surprised,” Micah interjected. “When humans and weres get together, this kind of thing is bound to happen eventually. Louie should count himself lucky it didn’t happen earlier, when the relationship may have been doomed by such a slip-up.”

“It may yet be doomed,” Jean-Claude said quietly. “You are forgetting that our Louie and Ronnie were not on solid emotional ground when the attack transpired. They had only just reunited after months of separation—” his gazed landed on Anita— “and we know Ronnie is not altogether comfortable with wereanimals, nor with the alternate lifestyles many of them lead. I think we should inquire into hiring a lawyer on Louie’s behalf.”

“I hope you’re wrong, but I agree we should be prudent,” Rafael replied.

Richard shook his head vigorously. “This isn’t some random attack—this is a messy situation between lovers, and I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s wait to see how Ronnie reacts when she wakes before you get a lawyer.”

“Agreed,” Anita said.

Rafael regarded Richard and Anita for a long moment. “I’m Louie’s king, but I’m not his friend, at least not in the capacity you two are. I will defer to you for what you believe is in Louie’s best interest. However, if this issue in any way involves the larger Rodere, I will act as I see fit. For now, I’ll refrain from contacting a lawyer.”

“Thank you,” Richard said coolly.

Jean-Claude looked as if he had something to add, but Anita’s phone began to vibrate. She checked the number and saw it was Dr. Lillian. “Blake.”

“I just received Ronnie’s test results: she’s positive for rat lycanthropy. I thought you should know. Rafael is next on my list.”

“Don’t bother, I’m with him now. Hold on.”

She passed her phone to the Rom, who quirked an eyebrow at her. “This is Rafael. I see. Yes, thanks, Lillian.”

Richard perked up at the doctor’s name.

“Ronnie’s results came back positive,” Rafael announced, and returned the phone to Anita.

“I’ll inform the Coalition. She’ll be shifting . . .” Micah did a mental calculation. “In nine days.”

Richard stood from the sofa. “I should be with Louie. No doubt Lillian’s already called him.”

“Very well. Please let me know how he is.”

He nodded once, quickly, before departing.

**Chapter 9: Rise and Shine**

Ronnie awoke to the dual sensations of an ax to her skull and fire at her back. She groaned, heaved herself up to a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. The surrounding room was stark, the only bit of color the green patterned drapes doing a terrible job at draping, as sunlight streamed in harshly from the window to her right.

“Careful. I’m glad you’re able to sit, but we don’t want you moving around too much: your wounds are still pretty raw.”

She turned to the direction of the voice and saw a small older woman, gray hair tied into a neat bun at the back of her head, with rectangular blue-rimmed glasses that brought out the still-sharp blue of her eyes. She wore a knee-length white coat with three pens tucked into its breast pocket, behind the reflective metal name tag that read _Dr. Granger_.

Ronnie’s eyes oscillated wildly at the sight. “What? Where am I?”

Lillian stepped forward and touched a steady hand to her wrist; her grip was firm, but her skin supple. “You’re in the hospital, dear,” she said in a calm, slow rhythm. “You were in an accident, but we’ve fixed you up. I’m glad to tell you that you’ll make a full recovery.”

She turned her upper body to the left to face the doctor. “A recovery from—” the color (what little she had) suddenly drained from her face; her eyes widened so much there was white visible around her irises. “I can’t move my legs,” she whispered.

“Not yet, no. But you will.”

“I can’t—I can’t move my legs!” she repeated, this time with a screechy dose of panic.

“Ronnie.” Lillian cupped her cheeks with both hands and looked her square in the eyes. “You’re alright. You have temporary paralysis below your pelvis, but you will mend with time.”

She inhaled deeply. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. I’ve examined you myself.”

“What happened? You said I had an accident.” Her complexion remained pale, though her voice had returned to its usual pitch.

Lillian paused. “What’s your last memory?”

“My boyfr—my friend, Louie.”

“More specifically?”

“I invited him to my apartment.”

“And?”

She hesitated. “. . . We had sex.”

Lillian nodded slowly. “Do you remember anything afterward?”

“We . . .” Her brow line knit together. “No, I don’t.”

“Are you aware that Louie is a wererat?”

“Of course. That’s how I met him: through a mutual friend who’s involved in all that preternatural stuff.”

The doctor looked at her expectantly, waiting for the knowledge to dawn, but it didn’t. “Sometimes, when a wereanimal engages in a sex act, his defenses drop so far as to uncontrollably shift to his beast. Those who’ve had lycanthropy for many years can better guard against this happening, but it can still occur under particular circumstances. Unfortunately, two nights ago, Louie’s passion got the better of him and he partially shifted while you were being intimate.”

“Two nights ago . . . ? What day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday morning.”

“I’ve been out of it for . . .”

“Just under thirty-six hours. You’ve undergone two major surgeries and have been in a chemical coma. We removed your ventilator at about six AM today and let you wake naturally.” Lillian narrowed her eyes at Ronnie when she didn’t reply. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, dear?”

Ronnie shook her head with too much force and winced at the spike of pain in her back as a result. “Louie would never.”

“It’s true, he’s usually very aware, but this time he couldn’t keep control.”

Ronnie stared at her dumbly.

“Bear with me a moment.” Lillian stepped out of the room briefly, and then returned with a seven-by-seven hand mirror. “If you wouldn’t mind untying your gown?”

She did as the doctor asked, very gingerly. Lillian held the mirror at an angle behind her, and she sucked in a breath. There was little unmarked flesh left on her back: most was covered by gauze with patches of rust-colored stain, and black stitches, glossy like fishing twine, zigzagged underneath.

She licked her now-dry lips. “That looks like a lot of damage,” she said in a thready voice.

“It is.”

“How am I . . . ?”

“Alive? That’s the next item I need to discuss with you.” Lillian placed the mirror on the bedside table and retrieved Ronnie’s medical chart. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll have to be blunt. While you were unconscious, I drew blood and had you tested for the lycanthropy virus. I was ninety-five percent certain I knew what the outcome would be, but the law requires testing whenever there’s an attack.” Lillian glanced at her over the rims of her glasses. “Ronnie, you are positive for rat lycanthropy.”

**Chapter 10: Pep Talk**

“Ronnie?” Lillian urged after an extended silence. “Did you hear me?” Nothing. “I said, you’re—”

“I heard you!” She covered her eyes with her hand. “But I can’t . . . it’s not . . .”

“I know it seems so now, but this is not the end of the world. Louie has lived with lycanthropy for years. You’ll have to adjust to _some_ differences, but really, you’ll keep on living the way you always have. If anything, it will give you a better appreciation for astronomy.”

The doctor’s joke fell flat as Ronnie lowered her arm and glared at her. “This can’t be happening. Run the test again.”

“Ronnie—”

“I _said_ test me again, goddamnit!”

Lillian took a breath and decided on another tack. “Instead of being angry at your circumstance, why not try being grateful? Had they been inflicted another way, your injuries would have killed you. You had a punctured aorta, a severed spine, and severe soft tissue damage. Your back looked like it had gone through a cheese grater. If you _hadn’t_ died of exsanguination, you would’ve been a paraplegic for the rest of your life. Either way, the moment you received those injuries, your life was altered forever. Tell me, would you rather be bound to a wheelchair or turn furry once a month?”

Ronnie blinked, and then recovered her indignation. “This wouldn’t’ve happened in the first place if not for Louie!”

It was Lillian’s turn to glare. “That’s hardly fair. You knew he was a lycanthrope, and you started a relationship anyway. You knew the risks.” She held up a hand before the other woman could respond. “I know you’re upset; you’ve just had big news. Venting your emotions is fine, but while you’re doing so, please try to maintain some perspective. You’re alive, healthy, mostly the same—improved even: you’re now stronger, faster, and have heightened senses of sight, smell, and hearing. Just try to see the silver lining.”

She gave an exasperated sigh—but was forced to abandon her foul mood by a noticeable gurgle. Blushing, she looked down to her stomach, and the sound occurred again.

Lillian covered her mouth to hide her smile. “I’ll let Patient Services know you’ll be wanting some lunch soon.” She pulled on a pair of hygienic gloves from the box in the bedside table and walked around to Ronnie’s still-open gown. “Hunger is a very good sign: if your body’s craving sustenance, that usually means it’s not preoccupied with more important things like clotting wounds. Relax your shoulders, dear.” She lifted a corner of one of the gauze strips. “Huh.”

Ronnie’s muscles tensed and she twinged. “Ow. What’s wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing. The slight pain you’re feeling isn’t really pain at all; it’s tightness from the stitches. Your skin has already mostly healed. These dressings can come off whenever you’re ready.”

“You can do it now, I guess, if it will get me out of here sooner.”

“Alright. I’ll be back shortly.”

She nodded and Lillian breezed out of the room. A little while after she’d disappeared, there was a soft knock at the door. Ronnie sat up straighter, hoping it was food. “Come in.”

No lunch, only an unkempt ex-boyfriend.

**Chapter 11: Headway**

Louie moved a chair to Ronnie’s bedside and sat stiffly. The hush that whorled between them was excruciating and seemed an eternity. His beaten-down appearance reminded her of their fight last December. His eyes weren’t red or swollen, so at least he’d slept, but not much else about his countenance was encouraging.

“I’m so glad you’re well,” he said gruffly. “And I’m _so_ sorry, Vi-vi.”

Lillian reentered with a tray of small metal tools that glinted in the natural light filtering through the room. She stopped short when she saw Louie. “Oh. I apologize. I’ll come back—”

Ronnie nodded. “No, Dr. Granger, it’s alright.”

Lillian glanced briefly to her friend, and then walked around the bed to the side nearer the window.

Ronnie attempted to position herself, but forgot about the paralysis. “Damn.” She raised eyes to her former beau. “Can you move my legs?”

The expression he gave her was flinching as a rabbit, and for a fleeting instant he seemed as if he would cry, but he only nodded. Ronnie’s heart dropped out of her chest to see him in such anguish. He slid hands under her thighs and pulled her slowly around and toward him, so the bends of her knees rested along the edge of the mattress, her calves and feet dangling in the air.

From behind, the doctor rolled her gown down further, almost exposing her breasts, so she could better work. “You’ll feel some tugging as I remove the stitches, but very little pain.”

She nodded. All she felt were jerked motions as Lillian began extracting the twine. “How did this happen?”

Louie sank in his chair, so he was eye-level with her. “I don’t know.” He clawed fingers through his now-lank black hair. “Honestly, I don’t. That night, I wanted to be with you, completely. I just . . . lost it.” When she didn’t reply, he continued: “Please, _please_ forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He took up her hands and kissed her knuckles.

“I’m angry.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “And I’m scared. I never asked many questions about the wererat thing because I didn’t want to know. Now I am one.” When she met his gaze again, her vision was blurry. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“ _I_ know what you’ll do,” he replied quietly, mindful of Lillian behind her. “You’ll roll with it, like always. You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Vi.” He squeezed her hands in his. “I’ll be here, every step.”

Ronnie squeezed back. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.” The earnest, pleading shine in his eyes said she could probably ask him to kill someone for her, and he would do it as easily as breathing.

“Never look at me that sadly again. I love you, Louie. I forgive you.”

**Chapter 12: Rat Fight**

Louie had shared the good news with Richard and Anita as soon as he left the hospital: Ronnie wasn’t pressing charges, and in fact, had been very accepting of her situation and forgiven him. Though Richard was visibly relieved, Anita was concerned but kept it to herself. Louie was so pleased he returned to work and finished out the second half of his classes for the day.

She waited a couple of hours for Ronnie to digest her visit with Louie before stopping by: she thought it prudent to give her time to mull over the events and have a meal or two. At three o'clock, Anita drove to the hospital and found Ronnie’s new room number: she’d been moved from the ICU into the general medical wing. Anita strode down the hall with two to-go cups of steaming coffee, one fixed the way Ronnie liked it. Lillian would probably advise against it, but Anita reasoned that if Ronnie was past the danger that came with being an ICU patient, she was enough recovered for caffeine.

There were two beds in the room, though only one was occupied. She knocked on the open door and heard Ronnie clear her throat, followed by, “Come in.”

She skirted the partially drawn privacy curtain and placed one coffee cup on the bedside table. “Skim vanilla latte, no whip.”

Ronnie looked only somewhat worse for wear: her hair was in desperate need of washing and hung in dull, limp strands around her face, and slight gray circles framed her eyes. But generally, Anita was surprised at how lively she was.

Ronnie’s eyebrows shot up. “Anita. What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m in a hospital and I’m not sick, so I must be visiting a friend.” But the playfully snarky comment did not elicit the grin she’d hoped for, so she moved on. “Dr. Granger says your recovery has been extraordinary.”

She nodded vaguely. “She says the same to me, though I still don’t have all the feeling back in my legs. Not enough to walk, anyway.”

“It’s coming back, that’s the important thing.”

Ronnie crossed her arms but didn’t vocalize a response.

When a lull began to stretch between them, Anita tried again, this time with a topic she knew would prompt something. “So, you’re really okay with the lycanthrope thing? You’re okay with Louie?”

Her forehead creased and her eyes turned suddenly annoyed and defensive. “That’s a bit personal, don’t you think?”

Anita huffed into the chair beside the bed. “You’re upset we don’t talk as much anymore.”

“ _As much_? I haven’t heard from you in almost a year! And before that it was just superficial bullshit.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I was angry with you about the Nathaniel thing, and I guess I just . . . didn’t call.”

“That’s an understatement.” Ronnie scoffed, and looked out the window.

“I know we’ve had a rough patch. You can’t imagine the guilt I felt when I heard about the attack. I—”

She whipped her head around, color piquing in her cheeks. “So that’s what it takes to get you back in my life—some disaster? No, thank you. If you’re unwilling to be my friend day-to-day, I’ll be damned if you get to schmooze your way back in just because I’ve had some bad luck.”

Anita closed her eyes as she stood from her chair. “Fine. I see this isn’t going to blow over easily. I’ll leave you alone for now. But remember, with you being a wererat, we’re going to have more contact. Rafael is a friend and ally, and no doubt you’ll be working with Micah and the Coalition. We’ll cross paths, Ronnie. Are you sure you want to hold onto this bitterness?”

“I guess we’ll wait and see,” she spat, her eyes smoldering.

**Chapter 13: Complications**

“Ronnie?” Lillian shook her arm gently, rousing her. “I’m sorry to wake you, dear.”

She sat up and yawned. “It’s alright.”

“I’m going to examine you one last time, and then we’ll get you discharged. How’s that sound?”

“Like you read my mind.” She beamed and untied the back of her gown.

Lillian donned a pair of latex gloves and moved to get a better view. “Oh,” she exclaimed.

“Problem?”

“Not at all.” She took up the hand mirror still on the bedside table and revealed Ronnie’s back to her.

It was like night and day. That morning, her back was an ugly crosshatched mess of stitches, the skin red and raw-looking. Now, she could barely make out the faint pink scars marking the tracts of Louie’s claws. “Wow! That’s amazing. Is this normal for wereanimals?”

“Yes and no. When the lycanthropy diagnosis was confirmed, I expected to see vast improvement, but this surpasses my prediction.”

Ronnie blinked. “That’s good, right?”

Lillian moved toward the end of the bed and squeezed Ronnie’s feet through the sheets. “It’s good for your recovery, yes—can you feel this?”

“Sort of. It’s an odd feeling, like my feet are asleep.”

The doctor nodded. “But, having such an accelerated healing process is a kind of foreshadowing to the strength of your beast, which will make the adjustment to life as a were more difficult.” She slid her hands up to Ronnie’s knees and squeezed once more. “And this?”

“The same. What do you mean, more difficult?”

“The stronger the beast, the more aggressive the first few shifts are, and as a result it takes longer to control. You’re lucky to have your own business; you may find yourself too agitated and moody to work in the days preceding the full moon.” Lillian glanced up and met Ronnie’s troubled expression. “But don’t worry,” she added. “You have a wonderful support system to help you through. Alright, let’s get you discharged. You seem to have some lingering numbness in your legs, probably because they’ve been immobile for a while. I’ll give you a pair of crutches to leave with, but I doubt you’ll need them for very long. I’ll call Louie to pick you up.”

Her eyes brightened. “Thank you, doctor.”

***

True to her word, Lillian phoned Louie: “Hey, Lou. Ronnie’s ready to go, if you can pick her up. I think we can get her out of here by seven PM.”

“That’s great news! Thanks for all your help, Lil. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She hung up and stared at her phone, ruminating. After a long moment, she dialed a second number.

“This is Rafael.”

“It’s Lillian. I have news.” She took a breath. “I’m discharging Ronnie this evening.”

“So soon? That’s impressive.”

“I agree; it’s very impressive. So impressive as to make me wonder about her beast.”

“To what end?”

She sat back and rubbed her temple. “Well, recovery rate after a were attack is dictated mostly by the strength of the virus strain. The more resilient the strain, the faster the victim heals, and this usually translates into a more dominant beast at the time of the first change.”

“Do you know yet how powerful she’ll be?”

“Not exactly, but let me put it this way: how long were you in the hospital after your attack?”

“Four days.”

“She’s been here two. Granted, preternatural medicine has made leaps since you were infected fifteen years ago—but nevertheless, that’s awfully quick.”

Rafael lapsed into silence.

“You see my concern.” Lillian prodded him.

“I do. We may experience hierarchy conflicts within the Rodere.”

**Chapter 14: A Changed Woman**

Ronnie had never seen Louie more attentive: even with the crutches, he guided her every step with a hand at her elbow, patiently moving at her slower pace as they made their way to his car. Soon she was settled securely (he made sure of that) in the passenger seat, wearing a pair of his washed-out sweats.

“It’ll be so nice to sleep in my own bed! Those hospital sheets aren’t soft at all,” she said as they pulled out onto the street.

“Oh. I was thinking you’d stay with me.” He eyed her.

She paused. “Not that I’m not thrilled we’re back together, but—”

“I don’t mean because we’re together. I think you should stay at my place while yours is restored.”

Ronnie’s brow knit together. “Restored?” She knew that look—he was thinking something he didn’t want to say out loud. “Lou?”

“The blood,” he said quickly, as if ripping off a Band-Aid. “Richard did me a favor and got a few guys together to work on the sofa and carpet of your living room. They got the blood out from most of the surfaces, but there is a patch of carpet that needs to be cut out and replaced—there’s still a brown stain that won’t come up.”

Tangible evidence. She hadn’t expected, or even conceived of that aspect. “I want to see it.”

“Vi-vi—”

“Louie, please. I’ll stay with you, but I want to see where it happened. I need to get supplies from my place anyway.”

A defeated expression passed over his face and he sighed. “Okay.”

***

Louie carried her up the stairs to her second-story apartment; clearly he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. The door swung open to reveal a dark expanse, and once Ronnie was braced against the threshold, he flipped on the living room lights.

It was just as she’d left it: the magazines spread over the coffee table; the wine bottle still out on the kitchen counter; her ripped clothes piled in shreds by the foot of the sofa. But as her eyes flit over the surroundings, she noticed the seat and back of her expensive leather sofa were askew and rough-looking. Nearby was an area about the size of a manhole that marred her lovely cream carpeting. It was the red-brown color of a sickly bruise, and the carpet itself was matted—the result of scrubbing, she imagined.

“I thought you said they got most of it up?” she whispered.

Louie wouldn’t meet her eyes. “They did.”

She swallowed hard. “How much more was there?”

“The entire section of carpet under the sofa was stained. The brown pool that’s left is where it was most concentrated.”

Ronnie stared at the spot. All that was once in her body, and more that she couldn’t see. She reached back and touched her shoulder blades, ran her fingertips over the textured skin of her swiftly fading scars. Her chest tightened and she felt suddenly lightheaded. “Louie . . . ?”

Her eyelids fluttered and her knees turned to mush, but he caught her before she hit the floor.

**Chapter 15: New Normalcy**

When Ronnie opened her eyes, she was back in Louie’s car as they navigated through a mass of suburbs.

He glanced at her, briefly taking his eyes from the road. “You okay?”

She attempted a nod, but stopped immediately, as the motion made her dizzy. “Yes.”

“I grabbed a bunch of your clothes and toiletries; I hope they’ll be sufficient.”

“Thank you.”

The remainder of the three-minute drive passed in silence. Louie pulled into the driveway of his adorable cottage house, and Ronnie didn’t argue when he bundled her out of the passenger seat and carried her into his bedroom. He made two more trips to the car to bring in her things, and then spent ten minutes arranging them in his closet and bathroom. She watched him move to and fro, scurrying like a squirrel preparing for winter. When he finished the task, he sat beside her outstretched body on the bed and rested a hand on her knee.

He stroked his fingers along the skin of her upper shin. “How’s your sensation?”

“Progressing. That feels nice.”

Louie used both hands to massage first one calf, then the other. “And that?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes as he worked down to her ankles. When he ground his knuckles into the balls of her feet, she giggled. “Hey! You know I’m ticklish.”

He chuckled, and the deep hearty current shot a tingle through her spine. His hands slid up to the backs of her knees and she squirmed and giggled again. He made his way further north: massaged her hips, then ran his thumbs across the tender skin of her inner thighs.

This time it was a moan that caught in her throat: “Louie!”

He nuzzled her through the cloth of her panties, and she gasped. He had positioned himself so he was lying on his stomach with her legs on either side of his chest. His hands stretched across her thighs and gently pushed them apart as he kissed her lower abdomen.

When he began to pull at her panties, she tensed. “Wait. Come here.”

He paused and moved up her body so he hovered over her, propped on his arms. His hair hung before her, almost long enough to touch her nose. She combed fingers through it and watched it cascade back down, a canopy of black foliage.

“How did you get over it? Your attack?”

The dim lighting tinged her eyes steel-blue. They were two glassy paperweights, heavy with gravity, wide and questioning below him. He shifted his body to one side of hers and stroked her nose and her lips and her jaw line. “With time. Patience. Support from people who had gone through the same.”

“Did you ever feel . . . normal again?” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. “Yes, sort of. A new normalcy. This is a trauma, but unlike other types that leave only psychological marks, a lycanthrope attack fundamentally changes your DNA. That was the hardest part for me: how could I be the same person when my genes were forever altered?”

Ronnie smiled faintly. “Always so scientific.”

“You know me.” He winked. “The change varies for everyone. Some aspects are easier to accept than others. For instance, with better senses of sight and hearing, your job will be easier than ever. But you’ll have to surrender to the moon every month, and for a Type-A personality like you, that loss of control over your own body will be difficult. That’s why the city’s were leaders have endorsed the Wereanimal Coalition: to make the trauma of an attack slightly less trying with the support of a large community.”

“I’m glad I’ll be staying with you.” She kissed him, deeply: the first intimate kiss they’d shared since the incident.

Louie returned her kiss with fervor, and his hands roamed everywhere: down her neck, over her breasts (teasing her nipples), and across her stomach. He hesitated at the rim of her panties, but when she moaned and bucked her hips, his fingers slid beneath the fabric and found her hot and ready for him.


End file.
